


Honey and Milk

by PhoenixstarKina



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: Depression, Did I mention Yusaku is Not Okay?, Dissociation, Everyone is technically in this one, Faust tries to parent?, Implied Pregnancy, Implied Sexual Content, Implied Split-Personality Disorder, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kidnapping, Medicinal Drug Use, Recreational Drug Use, Suicide Idealization, Yusaku is not okay, dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:54:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25944676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixstarKina/pseuds/PhoenixstarKina
Summary: I think God's staying at the Diane Motel and he's smoking out on the porchAnd you're crying in the parking lot again, just praying that I will come homeBut I've been lost for so many days on the interstate, I don't know morning from darkThe kindness of strangers and the strangeness of everyone I know has just fucked with my heart
Relationships: Ai | Ignis/Fujiki Yuusaku
Kudos: 12





	Honey and Milk

It had to be a dream, a cruel, cold dream. The body pressing against him, pushing him back into the mattress. The life-like panting that mimicked his own as they moved against each other. Yusaku moaned, clinging to the person above him.

He dragged his nails down their back, not like it would matter. Dreams couldn’t bleed. Dreams couldn’t bleed, he repeated as teeth dug into his shoulder, a deep thrust making him cry out. Pain blossomed on his shoulder, on the bruises on his hips. Dreams couldn’t bruise.

It was like electricity. A feeling he would know well yet it was so unfamiliar. Every touch new, yet he knew them. He knew _him_.

It had to be a dream. A cruel, cold dream.

But the wisteria petals spread around him in the morning reminded him that it was simply a cruel, cold reality. There was blood dried on his shoulder. Ten new bruises on his hips. He counted each one in the mirror, the black and purple standing out against pale skin.

And he had to stop looking. The color made him sick. At least, he told himself it was the color. It had to be.

Yusaku wanted badly for things to stop. For everything to just stop and be still. The world, the messages, his heart, all of it. Everything.

Another message showed up. Nothing could stop. Not the world, not the fighting, not his heart. But he was just going through the motions. No one to tell him to do otherwise. No monotone that had a happy tilt to it, no snark that settled into his heart like it had always belonged there. Just silence. The air the only thing going still around him.

What was the use in using his own voice if no one would care to hear?

 _Emergency meeting. Please Yusaku?_ The same message every day for two weeks. Without a single reply from himself. Yusaku knew he would show up. After all, in a cold, cruel reality, he had to. But it wasn’t Yusaku everyone wanted. Yusaku had faded into the background once more.

Playmaker took a deep breath. Even outside of combat, he had to be Playmaker. Playmaker didn’t stand in the shower wondering if leaving it running would freeze him to death. Playmaker didn’t eat to the point of almost making himself sick, because it could be the last meal he can get a hold of, even if that thought was irrational.

Playmaker had to fix everything. It was in his name. He had to fix every mistake Yusaku made as well. And there were plenty. Prepare an excuse for the tired look, put on a shirt and don’t tuck it in to better hide the bruises, drink something to make sure no one can hear anything off in his voice. Take the medication needed to act normal. Act normal. Act. Play. Make every right move to play his part.

He was so tired.

He had to keep fighting. One last fight, one last fight, he repeated it like saying it enough times would make it true. One last fight, his revenge was complete. One last fight, Jin was saved. One last fight.

Yusaku could fade away then.

* * *

“The Ignis won’t stop until Zaizen’s out of the picture.”

“The other AI already took out Emma and Blood Shepherd.”

“We all know Playmaker is the only one the Ignis will listen to.”

He wasn’t there, not mentally. Playmaker sat at the truck, but mentally he was far away. Their faction numbers were dropping. Fewer voices for him to disappoint, then.

 _“They’re fine. Just sleeping.”_ The dream- reality- echoed in his head. _“I won’t kill them. They’re simply out of the way now.”_

Circuit lines connected the truck to the ground, traveling over the tires, pulsing sometimes. His head leaned against the truck. That worked to sever a few lines. If only he could sever his own. Maybe then Kusanagi would stop looking at him like that. He knew where loyalties lie with everyone in their faction.

They only stood around there out of convenience. Misplaced trust with no true loyalty to be had. Hackers, bounty hunters, and innocents. There could be no loyalty to anything other than blind faith.

He was a replacement, and replaceable in turn. A power piece that would be drained and replaced, recharged and reused.

He trusted that look once. When they were strangers. He loved that look once. When they were family. But the hand on his shoulder felt too heavy. Playmaker couldn’t turn his head to look at it. Everything blurred together. He could scream about it. Scream until the dream- his reality- came to stop it.

Walking away made more sense. It wasn’t as if anyone would notice. No one did for the longest time.

Dreams and reality had sick senses of humor when someone did notice.

Playmaker accepted the smoke without hesitation. Yusaku would hate it come the next morning. There was a person leaning against the railing next to him with his own cigarette. He wanted to laugh at who it was. After all, it said a lot about the faction when enemies cared more than friends.

“Go home. This isn’t your fight.” He heard that before. Faust wasn’t the first to tell him it. Playmaker closed his eyes, taking a drag of the cigarette. “We were banded together to destroy the Ignis. You rallied to protect them. Go home.”

Ironic. As a scientist, the Ignis were created. As a Knight, destroyed. As an enemy, hardly worth his time. As an ally, monopolizing his time. Even during the rare bouts of clarity through the tired, medicated haze. So it wasn’t a cigarette, he should have figured.

Part of him envied Spectre. A lot. The Knights had caused every issue the five of them still had, but at least he had someone doting on him unconditionally at all times with them. Part of him envied the fourth child. A lot more than it envied Spectre. He didn’t have to deal with any of this.

Maybe Windy did the right thing.

“I don’t have a home.” The simplest reply he could give. For Playmaker, his home was gone. Disappeared into the network, fighting against them, it was tearing him apart.

He wanted to scream, to yell at the looks of pity everyone was giving him when they heard that. They had _no right_ to give him those looks. It wasn’t like Takeru or Spectre understood. They were getting along fine without their Ignis. Kusanagi had no right to be tearing up and worried. He made his loyalties perfectly clear before. Zaizen always pissed him off, even more so now that he knew who Playmaker was.

Only five people didn’t look at him in pity. Revolver looked ready to kick his ass off the edge of the railing. Playmaker was certain he’d let him. The other Knights regarded him with just mild curiosity.

Maybe he could be a test subject again. Maybe Spectre had been right about the Incident being the only way one could be useful.

Skye made five. She told him from the start to not fight. They would handle it without him. She actually talked to Yusaku, not to Playmaker. Maybe in an easier world, he would have listened.

The days were all the same between fights. Every meeting was the same. _Playmaker_ this and _Playmaker_ that. Playmaker didn’t listen, staying in his new spot situated between Genome and Baira. He wasn’t sleeping, hardly ate until food was basically tossed at him, until no one was left to toss it. Blood Shepherd, Ghost Girl, Spectre, Faust, Gore, Skye, Zaizen, Soulburner, one by one.

 _“They can sleep. Ah, why do Ai get stuck with such a stubborn mate?”_ The smallest of tilts to his head giving away he heard the voice. _“You know things would be easier if you just sleep”_

He couldn’t sleep. He continued to get sick. It was just data making him sick.

He wished he could be just data sometimes.

* * *

The cruel, cold reality came to him every night. Blossoming into something warm, something peaceful when hands traced over his body. Over matching scars, over abnormalities, over needle marks, burns, phantom areas that had never been injured there, but still gave so much pain.

 _“You’ve never looked so pretty. What would everyone say if they knew?”_ It was teasing him. Some suspected. Baira gave him knowing glances. Revolver alternated between glaring at the floor, throwing himself into battle, and simply standing by his side.

He answered truthfully when Kusanagi was the one to ask. _Two months_.

There was no true physical evidence that they could try and force him to get rid of.

A hand brushed his cheek. _Soon_. The word was repeated so many times

_Soon._

_Soon._

_Soon._

He wondered how drowning felt. His reality was a bathtub. Warm, peaceful water. Playmaker could almost forget everything. Almost.

It was routine. Float, eat, wonder. Float, eat, wonder.

Of course it would happen in threes.

One. _“They need to feel how truly hopeless a no-win scenario is. I need you to feel that losing is okay. That Ai can protect you.”_

Two. _“They should have worked harder. Not just relied on you to win everything. You need to rest.”_

Three. _“They hurt you. And I cannot allow that. So I won’t allow that.”_

The water smelled sweet, and looked clouded. Like he was bathing in a cloud, pure white and floating. Playmaker remembered one day. It felt so far away, such a long time ago. Skye and Ghost Girl talking. Honey was good in a bath, so was milk.

His reality would never stay close. It wasn’t enough.

But three more disappeared. Three days. Three pitying looks.

Playmaker was numb to them.

His reality never stayed. It wasn’t enough.

But nothing kept him from _leaving_.

If his reality wouldn’t stay with him. He would stay with his reality.

* * *

He spun a web. A tall tale. A lie that Playmaker had told so many times before.

 _I will end this_. The words were so easy. _I will stop him._ The pity was still there.

_“We love you, remember that.”_

It was said to _Playmaker_. It was _sad_ to _Yusaku_.

Someone came for him. Before three could turn into four. Eyes that didn’t look at him with pity. Words that scolded him so many times. _“How could you say such forbidden words to me?!”_

 _“You can’t care for him.”_ Challenges. _“I’ve been there longer than any of you!”_ Truthfulness. _“I know my master because I never betrayed him.”_

A slap in the face that had them recoiling. Two more fall, two are left.

_“I came here for Yusaku. All you two want is Playmaker.”_

Someone _understood_.

He was herded away from them. _“Roboppi knows how to care for master better. Big bro said master wasn’t taking care of himself or the surprise!”_

The confirmation started the war again.

Playmaker wasn’t phased by seeing empty bodies anymore. He wished he was like that too.

 _“Silly master. You find the weirdest friends who can’t even play right!”_ He was sitting down.

 _“That’s fine. Now you have us!”_ Roboppi was warm against him.

He was home. That was what mattered. Tucked away from everything and everyone. Hidden behind bright yellows and greens, cool blues and oranges, deep red, and pitch black.

They had always done so much more for him than humans had.

**Author's Note:**

> So what happens when I have a depression streak that last months cause therapy is expensive as fuck and medical conditions severely limit my income to absolute 0?
> 
> Projecting on to characters is a lot healthier than some other things I could've done. This has been the work of roughly 10 months of depression and other issues. Some days are good, some are completely fucked. Here's what happens when I decide I need an outlet.
> 
> The summary and general tone of the entire fic come from Honey and Milk by Flower Face. The go-to depression song of the year. At least it's not Bullet by Hollywood Undead anymore.


End file.
